Desire
by British Child
Summary: {The Ring attempts to seduce Frodo} - “You said that you would not harm a hair on his head – why leave him behind for Samwise’s fate! He is dear to me, and precious – yes, I forbid you to abandon him! We had a deal!”
1. Prologue : Sleep

_Desire_

_Prologue: Sleep_

**_Category: _**_The Lord of the Rings_

**_Genre: _**_Drama/Supernatural_

**_Rating: _**_PG-13_

**_Characters: _**_The One Ring, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Sméagol/Gollum_

**_Summary: _**_Sort of a sequel to 'Precious'. Based on a dream I had, the Ring comes to Frodo in a vision and attempts to seduce him. The road ahead is a long one. Bonds may break. Emotions run high. The One Ring's POV once again._

**_Disclaimer: _**_I don't own any characters or the story of The Lord of the Rings._

_A/N: This was another idea of mine that came from a dream I had one night. Please review and tell me what you think. : smile :_

_Oh, and for the record, this story is from the Ring's POV once again. In the dream, I saw it as a character…a vision speaking to its Bearers, following the name 'Precious'. So…I suppose you can call this a sequel to the other story…only it's not._

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The night was dark and dreary. So dark and cold. I have remembered most of these nights.

Wind. It howls now like a dying, wounded animal, around and around…and around. As if it is the last pleading call of an unworthy stranger. Someone lost…and alone. It sort of gratifies me…gives me life. I live to hear another one's pain. It strengthens my resolve…brings me balance, support.

The moon is covered. It always is in this land. So full of pain, hurt and torment…the air poisonous and strong, choking you…suffocating you. A black mountain protruding in the distance…the rainbow of your fears. The answer is lying there. It always has been.

There is no life to be found. You have only yourself for company on this path, the light is gone and faded, and has left only its shadow behind for a while. I feel at home on this land, where the charcoal mountains rise up to kill, and threaten you with their existence. I feel protected…warm and secure.

Even though the night is cold and dark.

I like it here. I feel warm in the cold. It brings such a welcome of comfort.

Mordor. Now I remember the name. Now I remember where I am. _Mordor…_

I rise up from my prison, a circle of gold enslaving me, trapping me inside. Though I do not feel like a prisoner, but of a free soul, brought onto the wind by a gust so strong that it lifts me high. Higher than I ever dreamed I could go. And the only way to go back is to come down.

I do not mind this, the world is out for me to see. And I am resting in my beloved home, with the ash and the filth, and the choking air. But this does not bother me. For my eyes see a welcoming view, of a vision so lovely and clear that it is almost that of the silky mind.

My gaze is cast before me. I see the Shadow Mountain, far in the distance. How I curse that place, the one thing I feel anger for in this perfect land of mine. It is my most feared patience, I will never go to it. The fires of the flame are so hot and uninviting…so harsh and severe to bring me to my own doom.

I prefer the cold. The dark. I am warm in the dark.

I shudder with rage as I imagine the heat licking me to my death, melting me whole. For I, even if though I am not cast into that terrible punishment, my security may. I have no power to stop my own life being taken up there, even if I choose not to follow.

And I will fade into the fire. Never to see this land again.

It is improving, this place. The shadows have grown higher, they are covering the valley. With every passing moonlight and sunlight I fear the light will bring something back. Something to be compared with the other hills of this Earth, a spoiled piece of grass…dirty and confounded.

But still of life. I cannot bear to think such things. I will not think. I will watch.

I cast my eyes away from the Mountain with another cold sneer. The heat is giving me my own…my own coldness. If any were true, opposites are in mind. Warmth is my enemy in this life. It always has been. The dark keeps you safe.

Safe. I want to be safe.

I look across to the dirtied ground. There lie two figures, separate from one another but still in their peaceful dreams. They have been my followers, attempting to do this task that I fear may come to my end. They have tried so hard…only to fail.

I study them with a comforting smile. How beautiful they are in sleep. They only have dreams for hope…dreams to keep their spirits alive. But it will not save them in the end. Their task is folly, they wish for success of this madness. They believe it can be done. I pity their good will…I pity their strength of heart.

Can they not see the end before them?

I watch them closely, watch their chests rise and fall as they breathe. As they breathe in this ash and poison, destroying themselves as they try too hard. I know of their names, they call to one another in their nightmares, in their dying thoughts. They are hobbits, smaller than Men.

Men. How I scorn them…weak fools. They all fell down so easily. So predictable it was, for me to see their end befall them, to watch every one fade and be drawn down to their greed. In all of my while I had never seen such a struggle as them, as what they came to be.

But this…

This is what interests me. Two small creatures, proceeding further than that of the hands of many. Their loyalty lies only in each other, the world means nothing to their eyes until they succeed. I scorn them too…and yet, I praise them for coming so far.

Sméagol became much more than that. He devoted his life…became my eternal friend for all those long, long years. I did repay him for all of that, he has not forgotten my own loyalty. He was a sight to witness…he claimed he suffered but he did not.

Oh no, he did not.

But enough of that. My interests lie in these hobbits now. I watch them again, ever more carefully as their sleep continues to persist. They seem so free of their own world. So many differences in their faces…faces like angels they have. So smooth and unusual for battle. They have not borne a time when their city has fallen, when their homeland has diminished.

They are like angels of heart. The poor things.

I lick my lips from the dry dust. Their tangled, curly hair lies in locks about their faces. One dark, and one with a sandy shade. The fading shadows play upon their faces. The soft wind teases their skin. One dark…and one light.

One dark, and one light.

The light will bring something back, I fear it so. Like the moon and the sun, I fear it may bring something back to this land, something once forgotten. I cannot bear the thought. Doubts cross my mind as I study this one. It could be the end for my land.

But the other one…

The dark keeps you safe. I am warm in the dark.

_Lo!_ How their eyes shine when they are awake! Yet, it is opposite. The light carries dark pools of distrust, like spring bogs of mud when the moon is full. It brings me to misery to see it. But the dark one carries wells of crystal, shimmering and beautiful. The dark always carries the comfort. It has always been this way.

See how he handles that trinket of mine? I am for sure safe in his grasp. How I long to comfort him further, give him desire. Temptation writhes to him as a snake, it coils, tightens around his fragile chest and softens his skin, whispering gently in his ear.

"Precious…"

I call to my home, my Master. How I wish to find my way. I call again. I call to Him.

"I shall return…"

I call to the hobbit Frodo. The one who protects me with care and fondness. I hear his torture, I listen to his struggle every waking day. It is like a strange, persisting battle for him, one he has never experienced. He is not used to this war…this pain. He is unknown to its wrath.

But no matter.

Tonight, I realise. Tonight will be his time. It will be both our time. He is suffering in my eyes, I see it. I will not let him do this task. I have to find my way.

I will come to him. Tonight, the time will be ours.

**_To be continued_**

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	2. Seduction

_Seduction_

_(A/N: Oh, I might have forgotten to mention…I don't have any disclaimer for characters used in Tolkien's work. I feel guilty enough already, lol. Thank you for those who reviewed in one night! I feel quite honoured.)_

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The night continues to shudder, violently now like an earthquake. My sight has not departed from the figure who lays before me, sleeping steadily as if a child. He seems so lost from this world…so insecure. He needs comfort from my mind.

I smile gradually as I study his face. So perfect, as if porcelain. He seems so fragile; I could break him with my coils. But I shall not. I shall help him. I shall make him understand.

I arch myself gracefully away from the crumbling formation of dust and earth, stepping slowly with light-hearted steps towards the slumbering hobbit. He continues to lie and only breathe, not knowing the warmth he will receive amidst this cold dominion. I lick my lips again from the dust.

_"Frodo…"_ I call to him softly. He never stirs.

I take another step, the dirt circling around my toes. My distance becomes nearer, our time has almost arrived. I plan to calm his senses, take him into my world. As every waking second passes, I feel his desperation as a halo, dancing around his innocence, as if he can sense my presence somehow in his dreams.

He struggles, as if warning me away. Stirring at last, in his slumber. He senses my arrival, he feels my entry. Poor Frodo. Sleep well, and be peaceful. He has only been good to me, I feel as if I should repay him for his care.

I close my eyes softly, summoning my inner power and strength. I hear his deep breaths ever more clearly in my mind, soft and moaning. My hair floats about me as the control flows through my soul, reaching out toward the resisting hobbit.

_Relax,_ Frodo love.

I reach his side at last, and look down upon the dirtied figure. A smile of satisfaction crosses my lips as I see his white hand clutched tightly around my confound. More protection. I see his struggle, his strain.

Breathing deep, breathing in his troubles, I settle myself beside him, my eyes upon his filthy brow. I detect one crease line as his forehead does battle with his spiriting thoughts, his hand shaking madly as it tightens around his shirt.

He is so small.

I study his cloak, his silver clothing hanging from about his pure neck. It carries a brooch of Elven kind, which sickens my heart for the while. How I long to unclasp it from him, throw away his need for protection and offer my own. I hold out a still, unwavering hand and brush it slightly against his shoulder, though the material of the cloak feels almost as hard as sandpaper to my touch.

I sense the feel of his arm, the warmth of his skin from beneath. I continue to stroke his quivering arm, hoping to reduce the tension and help him further. There is nothing to fear, he must know this. What he carries is something not to shrink from, but to hold for plenty of worship. He will understand.

I notice with a resolute glance that his feet are uncovered and exposed to the night. Taking time and with care, I pull the blanket in which he lies upon up and over his toes, protecting them in the way he would want. I take this as a reason to let my fingers pass through the dark, curling hair upon them, stroking and soothing.

"Frodo…"

I hear my Master calling again, calling from the Tower. I shall not go to Him. Not yet. It is what I desire, I know. But for the latter, I choose to help this little one. Behold how beautiful he is.

I bring my hand now to rest upon his back, a distinct heartbeat I can feel as he steadily breathes. He has heard my final voice, I see him stirring now with an awakening force. Smiling from his sleepiness, I bend down low towards his ear, my hand tenderly fondling his back, though the touch is brutal to my fingertips from the cloak material.

_"Arise…Frodo, love…awake…"_ I command, my voice deep and hollow, whispering dearly to him. A moan is uttered as he begins to rouse, and for further hope I place my hand over the one in which he clutches his possession, soothing and kind, stroking down the fierce knuckles and releasing him from pressure.

He swallows, his lips parting barely as his soft eyelids begin to peep. Even now as I watch him awaken, I notice a shard of splintered colour protruding from the slit of his opening eyes. The shade is that of a colour I usually hide from, but in this way it endears me, brings power to course.

I run a gentle finger down the crease of his eye line, where his eyebrows make contact with his skin. His touch is soft, smoother than the terrible Elven cloak. I see a slight frown form as he detects my presence, burying my finger against his brow.

"Arise…"

He revives quickly, harshly. Bolting his eyes open as if he were a frightened animal, startling only himself as he gasps. His curly head rises from the dirty ground a few, looking about himself in alarm, his hand still grasping his shirt…and mine upon it. His breathing has suddenly quickened, he has not felt the presence of my touch upon his back. I run a finger slowly down the base of his wrist.

He starts. Turning his head, he looks with fearful eyes into my own, as if they were pleading and confused. The frown returns as he stares upon me, though no tears lie in the brims. He seems almost lost, as if he is trying to place me. He glances down at my hold on his hand for a moment, before staring back up at me.

I smile, deeply. "It is I…Frodo, love…" I breathe.

He tightens his expression, as if in pain for a while, and then swallows hard. Shuddering the slightest against my stroking touch, his voice begins to whisper. "What is this?" he shivers.

I soften my features, holding the back of his hand and running a slow finger down the knuckle on his wrist, feeling him flinch. No, don't be afraid. I lean ever closer, the touch on his back deepening, though my fingertips despise myself in pain.

"It is I…" I repeat steadily, caressing the blanket material between his toes and enjoying the looks he is offering, as if every touch brings him to alarm. He has never seen this vision before, I come to him tonight out of balance. I have come to Sméagol several a while, also. He must learn the soul of what he carries.

His eyes open again, so deeply that it feels as if the crystal water from those wells has washed the flames from my body. He demands to speak, to hear out what he has to say, but I can feel his struggle.

Hushing him silent, I lift my tortured hand from his back and raise it slowly towards his throat. I take an eternity to reach, at last tracing my fingertip down the tension in his neck, drawing circles around the lump in his throat, and feeling more of his shudders up my body. His lips part slowly, I see them dry as he fights.

No, Frodo. Be comforted.

"I…I know your voice," he manages. I notice how he studies my face, finding his own explanation for this. Perhaps, I wonder…he thinks he dreams of it? No, Frodo love…this is for real.

I smile gratifyingly, stroking the tender neck with my fingers and leaning in closely. I persist to care for his trembling hand, my eyes boring into his and feeling a power surge through me from his own sensation. My hair continues to float around me in the howling wind, at times tickling the hobbit's jaw.

"It is your Precious…" I sigh.

He relaxes at my words. A slow smile creeps into the corners of his mouth, though his eyes still reveal confusion and misunderstanding. The tension grip on his shirt is released, and his body appears to almost go limp in places. He moans slightly and breathes out his fear, though I still sense it within him. "So it is," he says.

I begin to hum. A deep, influential call which rises above the ash but is unheard to abiding souls. I only allow Frodo to hear it as I continue to stroke my fingers against his tender neck, circling once again around the pensive parts and staring deeply into his shining eyes.

They roll back to shut, a symbolic trance passing over his face as I persist to call. I hum ever so softly now, almost a whisper to those if they heard. His breathing slows and his sighs can be listened to faintly.

"Listen to my call, Frodo…" I command softly, my fingers leaving the lump on his throat and burying gently in the dip of his neck. _Lo!_ How smooth and light he is, as if made out of glass. I slip out a fragment of a sneer as I watch him swallow again, the fear brought down through to my own spirit.

_"Krimp-burzum-ishi, love…"_ I whisper into his ear. _("Bind in the darkness, love…") _The Black Speech seems to terrify him, I feel his beautiful blood pulsating madly in his veins. He does not understand that everyone will speak this way. He must be familiar with it, so.

I hear him gasp, cry out softly. I soothe his brow, my fingers entwining with his own as I have not moved my other hand from his grasp. My hair persists to billow under his neckline, teasing his nerves.

I feel sweat under my fingertips and notice that his forehead is clamming. Softly I comfort his pain as his brow contracts with pressure, and his eyes are now tightly closed. The hand of which I hold begins once more to reach for the shirt, tightening the muscles in his fingers and his knuckles straining.

I sneer calmly, my breath rushing against his hair. "Ease yourself…"

He grunts, shuddering under my touch. "Let me…let me be," he gasps, his fingers desperately searching for my trinket behind his shirt, though by and by his sight is blinded, as he does not open his eyes. A tiny bead of sweat sits upon his brow and I rub it gently into his skin.

_"Thrakulûk burzum-ishi…" _I breathe._ ("Bring them all in the darkness…")_ As I speak my Master's tongue, my voice deepens and sounds non-bland against the night, though only the hobbit can hear it.

Frodo struggles with his thoughts, I hear them deep in my own mind. His eyes tighten at the sound of my bottomless voice and his breath rate slows evermore, though the beating of his heart grows stronger. "No," he shudders. "What do you speak of?"

I tangle my fingers in his dark curls, wanting his trust. I feel him taut from my contact and he groans in despair. I half expect him to shed tears of mercy, but he does not. I run a soothing palm down his ashen cheek, hearing his hitching breaths. "Be free of your troubles, little one…" I sigh. "You are the only importance…"

"Do not tell me of importance," he growls, his shivering fingers attempting to break free from my hold. "Let me be, I say." I notice how his voice breaks with difficulty, as if he is balancing on the brink of distress. I can feel his sadness radiating past his skin.

I soothe down his nimble knuckles, in some way forcing my own kindness. I am his friend…he knows this. Slowly I tighten my grip, not out of anger but as a calming remedy. I lean in close toward his ear, my other hand lost in his hair.

"Do not be discontent with your fear…" I tell him warmly. "I see you struggle every day, love…I feel your pain…" I ran a gentle hand from his hair, down past his neck and caressing his throat. It felt so delicate, I may just as well have broken it in two right there.

"I can be trusted…" I hiss in his ear, my coils tightening. "Trust me, Frodo…"

He relaxes for a while, lost in the touch of my presence. A numb sigh he did release, until it was destroyed by a hefty sob. "You have been only a bother to me," he quivers, his eyes opening. He had not opened his eyes in a while.

I smile coldly. "Now, now…no need for that…" I whisper dryly, my finger once more lying in the dip line of his pale neck, his bright eyes feebly staring. I stroke it tenderly, taking a moment to bask in the softness of his skin. "You hold so much pain within yourself, love…let me _help_ you…"

"No," he interrupts suddenly, trying to pull away, as if he is fighting only himself. He twists his head away, stealing my touch into emptiness. The action angers me a little…I feel the rage coursing through my soul.

"Frodo, love…" I try to reason.

Again, he shuts his eyes, breaking all vision. He does not try to break free from my grasp; it almost appears as if he is commanding me away with his mind. His voice is wavering, soft and cold. "I – I do not wish to hear your voice," he stammers, his lips dry. "I do not ask for this…what is your purpose?" his words sound frightened.

Sneering casually, I slip my hand further into his and embrace the trembling palm, feeling the clutched woven material of his shirt and hearing his breath sharpen. "Only to help…" I reply, staring down into his crystal eyes, entrancing him gently. "I need your advice, dearest…I need your loyalty…"

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice shaking.

I wipe his brow soothingly, my lip curling. "It is only a matter of time, beloved Frodo…" I sigh. "A time to make a decision…you know of what I speak. So let us be calm…_relax…_and we will discuss it reasonably…"

**_To be continued _**

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_A/N: Poor Frodo. I hate myself. _


	3. Samwise

_Samwise_

_(A/N: A new chapter! thanks again to all those that reviewed the second chapter, I'll give thanks to you and I hope you enjoy this one!)_

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Frodo stares at me now, stares at me as if I were a mad thing. My hand continues to carefully stroke his fevered brow, feeling it contract sharply against my fingertips as he frowns. He understands what my meaning holds. I see it in his eyes.

I summon a great source of power right then, tightening my grip against his paralysed knuckles, but without taking my eyes from his face. I spot a smear of dirt below his right temple, and I rub it away, noticing his grimace as my finger touches softly against his skin. I feel him shudder another time, though his eyes remain open.

"There is no need for fear…" I whisper comfortingly, my finger leaving his temple and tracing his hairline along the white forehead, slowly and with time one takes for reassurance, as his lips become dry with every shattering breath he takes.

"Reasonably?" he gasps out, his eyelids fluttering at my words. "I – I know not what you say. You must be mistaken." His voice narrows at his final words, and below my steady hand I feel his own quiver, as if he is not being honest with either himself, or I.

There is a tremble within his pulse. I feel it as I soothe down his palm with my fingers, once again the warmth of his blood flooding me with such desire and power I feel as if I shall go mad. I long for his trust…I need to convince. He is so troubled, so lost and afraid.

Poor, _poor_ Frodo. I sympathise.

Slowly, as if to bring him more doubt, I lean in close so that my lips are almost touching his tangled, dark curls. I breathe in his scent deeply, hearing him groan another time, his hand persisting to pull free from my grasp. His locks carry the smell of ash, purified dust clarified with yet, a hint of fresh water.

Behold! Such a smell to my senses I have never dreamed. He squirms beneath me, his voice cracked and dry, like the valleys of Mordor itself.

"Please…" he begs, turning his head the furthest he can, his neck arching for freedom and the muscles stiff in his shoulders. I hear his breathing quicken at the sound of my inhaling air as I breathe him in, wishing I could gain his response. I laugh slightly at his pleads.

I hush him for quiet, not wanting his mercy so soon. I entwine my fingers evermore firmly around his own, hearing him almost gasp out in surprise. His chest tightens and his breaths hitched, I see the crease travels that lie in his shirt from his fist. A low, quiet drone echoes from my throat as I cease his struggle.

"Please," he asks of me again, his demands quieter now. _"Please_ – I have nothing to say!"

I sneer a little against his hair, my voice rash and deep. "You lie." My fingers soothing his hairline now lose themselves in his curls, fasten around the limp locks and smooth them out gently. His eyes still remain open, though now I detect fright within them, a fright so sincere that it may have caused pity to the hardest of hearts.

Though mine is harder, and is not shamed easily.

"No, I - " he stammers out, a fierce shiver passing through him at the feel of my touch against his hair. He swallows hard, his lips parting feebly as he searches for an answer to bide with. I sense his heartbeat strengthens, though as I listen to his thoughts they cry out for help.

_Sam…Sam…_

I lower my lips from his hair and let them travel softly down to his ear, where I intend to whisper my endearments to him, let him hear me out. "You are not being truthful, Frodo love…" I sigh out, my fingers circling, making patterns in his soft curls. I hear him moan in anguish, as if the words from my mouth have brought him pain.

He once more tries in vain to force my grip from his hand, but he does not succeed. A weak grunt he releases, and in his last hope he plans to pry his hair from my clutches. But I only ever continue to comfort him, the surface of his scalp soft and smooth, like the very skin he wears.

_"Ghâsh-ishi, ash gimb-dug…"_ I breathe, once again announcing the Black Speech into the little one's ear. _("In the fire, one finds filth…")_ It startles him, as I anticipated, and his eyes pinch together tightly, a whimper slipping out. His knuckles become fiercer, they tense under my own palm. A strange sound comes from his throat.

My hand worms its way out of his hair and brushes down his silken cheek. It feels so cold against the night, and another violent shudder surpasses through to my own mind from his senses. I now twist my fingers against the one that holds his shaking hand, and clench it tightly in my palm, now holding it strongly.

He has not shone tears, yet. This is indeed interesting.

Now at the mercy of his fist in my own hand, the balance seems to bring him to plead nevertheless. The lump in his throat quivers, and his sighs are pardoned as the tightness in his eyes shows through. "Leave me," he commands, although the firmness in his voice fails him so. "Please…leave me."

"That I cannot do, dearest…" I scorn, marvelling in the appearance of one so helpless. Sweet Frodo. I ask only to help you, I ask you to be comforted…to ease yourself from your pain. You carry so much, little one.

Now a piteous sigh he murmurs, and with instant fortune tries to free himself. "I beg it of you," he despairs, his voice weakening and his head drooping a little, his hand slowly limping in my own clutches. His eyes do not open, though I do not wonder of it, I now he is slipping into my trust, blinded…I add.

_Sam…help, Sam, oh – Sam!_

I smile coldly at the desperation in his thoughts. My hand falls from his beautiful cheek and slips past his neck, my eyes fixed on the dip once more. His throat muscles still shiver, for a fleeting moment he appears to my eyes so weak. The helplessness of his own I feel, shuddering through his body like fire, or wind.

My lips lean in towards his ear, breathing heavily. His hair rustles under my call and he gasps out another time. Slowly, my fingers trace the collarbone of his neck and sink in the dip, circling around the valleys. It appeals to me again how smooth and light he is, as if a fragile formation. He grunts under the strain.

A robust sob echoes from his throat then, it fills me with delight to hear him crumble under my will. He sighs deeply, as if holding back tears. He whispers out another time, though a little pitiful, "I beg you."

I do not answer him, I shall not. My action shall be to torment him, to bring him to my state of mind. I do not have an answer for his pleas, they sound pathetic and wretched falling on my ears. I do not feel an ounce of guilt…of sympathy. So far, I am succeeding.

I remember his thoughts, his cries for help. I feel as if that is his last shred of hope inside his tiny little body, calling out for his companion. Without the light, he is nothing. If he remained in the dark, he would diminish, would he not? If someone where to take that from him, he would have nothing more to live for.

Cannot that someone be me?

I smile pleasurably at his weakness. Lifting my fingers from his neck, I fasten my hand softly around his pure throat, my palm lying against his skin, sensing his sudden fear. He swallows hard. I will not choke him; I will not bring myself to it so soon. I must make him suffer.

Death would be a comfort to him.

"Release me…please," he breathes out, the fear trembling in his voice. The hand of which I hold shudders gently in my own, his eyes shut though not tightly. A violent twitch suddenly sounds through him, a flinch as I caress the delicate throat. There are slight filth marks in the shallow areas, and I take the time to clean them, stroking gently.

"Look at him, love…" I whisper, my stares now travelling up and away from the one I hold in my power, toward the creature lying still a few feet away from us. The light one, the one I fear may destroy my land. How he rests so calmly, as if without a care. What possibilities I could gain if I were within feet of him, I would take my chance with that one.

Frodo flutters his eyes at my words, and listens carefully. They feebly open with a glance and watch my stare, lying upon his dear friend. He gazes madly into the open, as if for a moment wanting to cry out to him, his breathing becoming stronger. I hear a soft moan dance from his lips.

I tower in closer, my words almost touching his neck. "Do you see him, beloved…?" I ask him in a dry voice, soothing his mind with my touch. I feel him gulp behind my hand and his throat tightens as he struggles against my fingers. I can feel his misunderstanding, his confusion again. And yet, I sense a battle waging within him, to fall to all and shout out the name that sounds in his head.

The corners of his eyes tense, I see that the brims of them are dampening. I smile to myself as another wave of sadness penetrates my body, brings me happiness. The tears are finally beginning to show for him, dear Frodo…cry at will, if you desire it. It will bring you comfort…ease your strain.

"What of Sam?" he whispers out, his breath cold and wavering. His eyes dart to the sides, as if he were trying to bring me into his sight. I feel the power to laugh as I stare back into them, noticing the peril that lies inside…the fear. "I see him…I do. Why do you ask this?" he says.

I lie one finger on the rim of his throat, tracing a circle. "You would not want to see him suffer…" I say coldly, my whispers harsh. "Would you, Frodo love…? You would not like that…" My hand fastened a little tighter on his neck, feeling him stiffen at my action and let loose another whimper.

"What if I were to see his end…?" I go on in a murmur. "What if this hand…was around his own throat…? What then, dear Frodo…? What then…?" I laugh in my own head at the stillness I receive from the poor, frightened little hobbit.

Again, his eyes persist to remain on my face, widening evermore at my words, washing my body again with pleasing comfort as fright flooded my soul for a relief. His breathing seemed to stop, his voice cracked and unhappy. To my delight, his brims squeeze taut to let a lone tear fall past his dirty cheek, and his words were quiet and meek. "You would never," he sobs.

I only smile at his worry. "It could be his end…" I continue, enjoying the trepidation in his crystal eyes. I do not wipe his tear away, I let it fall as it fills me with glee just to watch it trickle. My grasp softens on his throat and I feel his breaths now grow stronger.

My eyes look down towards his shirt…where my confound lies beneath. A piece of his velvet skin is exposed, where the button has parted. It suddenly seems so appealing. My hands instantly fall to it, stroking carefully and whispering endearments. Frodo struggles under my touch and a choked cough he submits, the despair and anger filling him.

"R – release me," he stammers again, his pace quickening of the heart.

"You know what he is to you…" I whisper in his ear, my fingers lying smoothly over the silken flesh of his torso, the tiny section which lies uncovered to the stars. In the brightness of my eyes I spot the chain hanging from his neck, of which he carries my keep. I eye it hungrily, and lick my lips.

_"Snaga…"_ I hiss, letting my finger slip down the chain against his purified throat. _("Slave…")_ That is all the light one really is. This Sam. A slave resting in power mad eyes, surrounded by unworthiness and oblivious hatred. I see a glint in my eyes and I hold it back, the rage wanting out.

Frodo squirms in my clutches, his expression tightening in fury as I become close to touching the thing he protects. His voice slips out in another whisper. "What will you do?" he asks, trembling madly from my caress. He almost sounds demanding. "What will you do? What will become of Sam?"

I do not answer him, but continue to comfort his aching pain. His protectiveness is strong amongst all things, not just of what he owns. His heart carries a burden of its own, one he cannot hide from.

At my silence, a fire dances in his eyes. He suddenly gains the face of an angered power, determined and resolute, his face flashes almost for a moment. This does not surprise me. The faces I have been offered from many ago have been more brutal. Still, it surprises me to see him this way.

"Answer me, hear me out," he growls, his features mighty with rage. He stares strong into my eyes, without fear of his command. It seems as if he has suddenly changed. The presence of the Shadow Mountain has been known to tamper with the hearts of many…and I see for myself that it is true.

I leave him with his odium, and concentrate on the chain revealed, around his neck still. I feel my eyes pouring with hunger, my strokes still giving warmth to the pale velvet skin. I try and avoid the cloak as much as possible, basking in the softness before my fingers. "He will die, Frodo love…" I whisper.

He frowns again, his brow pierced with anguish. "No."

"He will die…and he will fade…"

"Be quiet." He shuts his eyes tightly, more tightly than he ever has done. It is as if he is almost trying to send me away, as if his ignorance will cause my halt. It is only bringing his weakness…his plan is diminishing.

"He will fail you…he will fail us all…" I breathe.

"Never. Not Sam…"

"He will pass into the Shadow…he will succumb to the darkness…" I said, slowly my hands making their way up to the hobbit's throat, feeling the heat of vigilance upon the skin. "Poor, weak…_worthless_ fool that he is…you would be lost, _nothing_ without him…and he plans to deprive you, I hear him, love…he is watching you…_waiting_ for you, and when the time arrives he will abandon you…leave you alone…leave you to _die _if he would…"

My words are like poison to his mind. An angry sob ripples from his lips and he suddenly fights back with a new strength, his voice growing louder from his level. Tears blind me from him as they flow onto his pale cheeks. "No!" he cries out. "You shall not torment me with your lies! Leave me! Nothing will become of it! You shall not take Sam, you wretched thing! Nor shall I hear your voice any longer, you will not have me! You will not take me too…I will not _go!"_

His spoken mind, full of tears sounds louder against the thundering night. With a mighty growl, I swipe at his throat and hold it in my clutches, squeezing tight and ignoring his cry of desperation. I feel his fright now, now that I have him. I smile at the tears, which fall. He seems like a terror-stricken animal once again.

"Let…me _go!"_ he chokes out, his hands now blindly trying to defend.

_"Glob!"_ I screech in the almighty tone, deafening to those who would listen. _("Fool!")_ With my other hand, I grasp his own and with slow care began to move it toward my keep, my confound. He shall put It on, and all shall be forgotten. I see how he battles, how he strains. The resistance is mighty.

"No – stop!" he whimpers, desperate to be free, and attempts to pry his hand.

I persist to beckon, my mouth close to his ear and demanding my call. "You shall _bide_ to me, love…you will not do this task…do not destroy It! The life force that It yields to is one that you shall perish! Fail the light! Keep the will strong, beloved…_dearest_…Frodo!"

"Sam!" he finally shouts, banishing all thoughts from his mind of risk, and crying out for the company, the aid. "Sam!" His pulse is rapid, his will-mind weakening. He is fading…this is his last chance for an egress he desires. With every heartbeat the name of his friend sounds loudly in my head, his voice racking with tears and his breathing humble.

I almost have him now…almost…his weakening form is belonging to me. My grip fastens harder around the pure neck, and I hear him choke quietly. There is no way past this malice, for poor…sweet, beautiful Frodo. He will choose either to die tonight or for another moment. I lean my lips on his hair, whispering his name.

"Your Sam will regret his idleness…" I murmur softly, as my grip deepens to bring his fist closer to my trinket, soothing the backs of his knuckles but holding with such a force that I have the advantage. This will be it, our time…tonight as I had hoped. As I knew it.

A howling wind whistled smoothly across the ash and rocks that crumble. Amidst the hobbit's foolish sobs and pleas I hear a steady rumble in the distance. The call comes to me again, it brings all to mind and as I listen, I hear calm breathing in my ears of a new.

Everything stands still for a moment. Within my sight I grimace at the view, two pools of fresh bog mud stare through to my soul and anger my spirit. I feel a rage course inside me at this disturbance, and I frown in hatred so strong it would bring disaster to the strongest flame. Then from a shallow distance I hear a confused, bland and humble voice, speaking up from the dust and dirt.

"Mr. Frodo?"

**_To be continued _**

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	4. Slipping

_Slipping_

_A/N: I never thought that I would get so many reviews from this. I am really thankful. Enjoy Chapter 4!_

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My sight withers upon this new arrival. In a sparking fear of intermission I feel my eyes glinting with hatred, coal fires ablaze as they rest on the light. I hiss soundly through my teeth, as if warning him away. He does not hear it.

I feel a rumble through the earth. My Master is growing sour in our lateness, for a moment I scowl for him as my time bides longer and the tremors fall down into the valleys from the Mountain as if they were rain. The stars dot out one by one as a thick, smoky cloud quickly takes over. The darkness has returned.

I clutch hold of Frodo still, my hand tightening on his throat. I take his hand for my trinket and persist to try another time…maybe there will be a chance before the sane approach. I notice how the hobbit's senses seem to grow and gain life at the sound of the new voice, and how his heart spirit rises in his chest.

"What is it, Master?" The other one continues to speak, moving and edging closer to where we lie, and with every inch that he moves I draw the little one in my arms closer to my power. Those filthy eyes of this Sam, grow wider with wonder and fright – oh, fright is revealed in all places now. It is always shared.

As a last strand of trial, I release my call to rest upon Frodo's ears, willing him to follow his inner desire. I hum softly but drone-like, my voice deep and formidable against the night and settling into the comfort of the temptation. I smile in slow form as his eyes flutter if nearing sleep, and a quiet sigh of lessening he makes.

"Sam…" he breathes, his dirtied supple lips sticky as they part. I hush him comfortingly, wiping the dirt from his neck. Such a delicate creature. So beautiful and pale, so lost from his mind. Unable to hold on for more than he believes to be true.

As I look upon his withered form, a sense of control floods my essence. I feel the advantage, the strength and management. He is like a broken animal, a beast not wanting to be tamed but the power has taken him and beaten him down. Knowing that in my heart I will regret it and my Master will rage, I lower my head and plant my lips on his clammy brow in a kiss. "Sweet Frodo," I muse.

My new touch gives him life…his own strength. With an alarmed cry he shouts out again, using the remainder of his will to fight against me as he struggles and thrashes wildly, sobs echoing into the night. "No!" he shouts, his voice breaking with tears bursting from his damaged eyes. "No – leave me! Sam! SAM!"

My anger is risen further as within that final call, Sam hurries to reach his pained friend, scraping the skin off his knees and palms as he lifts himself up to his feet and quickens to Frodo's side, the fretfulness written in his face. Now he is beside me too, and I can hear his heavy breaths.

To my disgust and sickening taste, he takes Frodo's hand from my own with surprising ease – he takes it from _me!_ The unworthy fool! I am the one to comfort this hobbit – it is _I!_ My stare is piercing as I glower horribly into his dirty eyes, knowing that if my looks could wound, his would be one so great he would be dead before the night was through.

He kisses it, and soothes it with his own motion. He shushes under his breath, speaking in assurance. "Sh, Mr. Frodo. S'all right," he says, his eyes showing sheer sympathy and his voice dipped with mellowing console. "Your Sam is here now, he's here to take care of you. And he will as well, he shall."

His voice rings like cutting knives on my ears.

"Sam…" Frodo gasps in relief, and shuts his eyes, his face tightening. Another whimper erupts and he quickly clutches blindly at his friend, the corners of his eyes tensing against his smooth skin and his face streaked with despair from the tears he sheds.

Sam frowns down in worry at his elder, his expression contorts in pain. I smile at his hurt, at his suffering. Poor naïve Samwise. Both of them know so little of this world. They will have much to learn from it in time.

"Master?" he asks, his voice trembling.

"Help me – help me, Sam…I can't stop It…" Frodo's words sound as if he were falling, falling. His hand shakes and another lone tear trickles. I feel his throat close in a choking intake and his bright eyes begin to roll.

I sit there and smile. Then I hum. I am calling him to my song.

Then the awaiting moment, for which I have desired for so long this night arrives. A pitying cry issues throughout the valley, echoes off the rocks and rings into the black of the late.

Frodo screams. He screams for it to stop. Then he grabs madly at Sam in his final shout, pulling him down to his side and tugging at his shirt collar as if it were a rope from the deaths, and his hope to be pulled up. I never stop now, I see what I am doing to him…wondrous this is, to see his worst denial without even lifting a finger.

"Frodo!" Now Sam looks on in horror, still with his hand in his grasp but refraining from being pulled to the filthy ground by his master's remaining strength. There is strain in his face. _"Frodo - "_

"Make It stop!" Frodo pleas, his voice racking with sobs.

"I don't understand, Mr. Frodo sir, but hold on - "

"I cannot!"

"Yes, you can – I _know_ you can, you can do this - "

"It…never stops…"

They go on for a time, Sam all the while hoping to keep down the level of Frodo's shouts and orders. They are hidden, and my torture is sending the little one into a state of madness. I never halt my song, my call. Not once.

"Listen to It!" Frodo cries out suddenly, catching Sam's shirt in his nimble fingers. "Listen how It speaks! It never stops, Sam! _Never!"_

"Mr. Frodo - " Sam began, tears choking as he pulls back on his knees and attempts to pry his shirt out of his friend's clutches. "Frodo – let go, please…s'all right as I told, you just have to hang on now - "

"Can you not hear It!" he demands, his eyes almost spinning. _"Listen!"_

"Master, don't shout…someone could hear - "

"I can hear!" Frodo shoots back in triumph, his lips curling and his eyes dancing on the water. "I can hear It well! I hear It all the time! It wants to listen – listen to It, I say! Listen!"

"Frodo – something's wrong!" Sam cries, now his tears flow. He stares down at his friend in shocking disturbance, I can feel his heart crying. It is really crying. Crying with fear, and sadness, and dread.

"Nothing is wrong!" Frodo laughs.

"There is! You have to hold on!"

"I am!" Frodo sighs, his face slipping into a dream and his voice in a calming whisper. "The song…"

"Snap out of it!"

"Listen to It…"

"No!"

"It never stops…listen…"

"Frodo…" Sam weeps, his grip tightening on his hand and his voice meaningful to the mind and soul. His palms are grazed and dirt lies on his knees. He suddenly seems pitiful too. I sneer at the power I contain. "Frodo, listen to me…"

"I am listening…"

"Then hear me out."

"The song…"

"Not the song! Listen to _me,_ your Sam! Listen to your Sam!"

Frodo grimaces, blinking slowly. His expression darkens into a frown and concentration lies upon his face. It seems to freeze, as if a sense of knowing has suddenly dawned among the voice within. "Sam…"

I look towards Sam in rage, and see an elated grin. It almost seems as if he could weep for joy upon hearing a sane answer. I could have taken Frodo in, if it were not for his meddling. My anger courses through my veins like fire.

"Yes, Frodo me dear!" Sam sighs. "Your Sam. He's right here."

"Oh, Sam…" Frodo breathes, his throat racking in apology. He breaks away from my drone and turns his attention towards his friend. His lip and the lump in his throat both quiver as he fights back tears. "Where was I?"

"Somewhere bad, Mr. Frodo. But not anymore."

Frodo gasps out in surprise at the tears on his friend's face. He looks down at their hands entwined and freezes in terror. "What have I said?" he murmurs, feeling his mind wander. "What did I do? O, I cannot remember. Sam…" he glances up into the muddy eyes…and I feel his comfort from them, as I scorn.

"I tried," he sobs, his fading tears falling.

They fall into an embrace, soothing and warm. I look on them both with malice glinting in my eyes, my grip has now been tarnished from Frodo and torn a blunder by this Sam. For as he took up his friend in his words he pried the feeble body from my clutches and into his own arms.

I hear a hiss not far from above me. I turn behind to see a familiar face. An old friend. My dear Sméagol. So he is still with them. I had not known he would still become to me, still think of my presence. But for now I feel a sense of faith in him.

He is loyal to me, unlike some many. Maybe this night is not yet over as it may seem. Maybe there could still be that moment when the time would be ours. Sméagol, Frodo and I. We could all share it…they would be powerful too.

"As long as your Sam is here, he won't let nothing happen." I hear these words from my distance now as I turn back, from the hateful one I anger. His words show protection, as if he were looking after a lost child. And as I watch, his friend seems in appearance as one, lying cold and afraid in his carrier's arms.

Though he smiles contentedly, and holds him close.

I sneer again in spite. Then I turn back, my eyes close on Sméagol, prowling the tops of the rocks and whispering quietly. I smile at him. The only one who may as well listen to me now, the only one. There may still be a chance, for my Master and myself.

My sight falls upon the view ahead, distant and cold. I feel warm again, as if I have made no mistakes. Then I breathe, and slowly turn my back on the Shadow Mountain.

**_To be continued_**

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_(A/N: Believe it or not, there is still more to come. Please tell me what you think!)_


	5. Sméagol

_Sméagol_

_A/N: Sorry about the wait! I've gotten so into starting new fics that I'm completely beginning to get ahead of myself…I haven't forgotten this one! So, I thought I'd write up another chapter for it. : smile :_

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The darkness arrives sooner than I expect that night. It billows around my presence as a numb warning, commanding me to progress with my well-being. My Master called again to me as I pondered, opening His cruel heart to me with His poisonous words that provide me with so much comfort.

He misses me, He thunders. He wants me to return to the side that will offer us all of the power we could desire. I want it so badly, I know it is what beholds me in the distant future, and I want to make it to the Shadow Mountain. But this I cannot do by myself…I cannot do it alone.

I need the help of Frodo, he is the one who must take me there. But it is not for the same purpose, I fear. He may scorn at my appearance, and dart away from my assistance, and now…still lost in his friend's arms as they sleep away the night, he may wonder if my plan was all a blunder.

No, my Frodo…my love. You have only caused the worst of harm to come. You will understand. Alone, I will find you once, and then you will have to taste my true deception, with no Sam in sight. Then you will learn…it is so simple to comply.

I sneer at him, lying motionless and still. I will not attempt this yet, for I will let him wither…as the last dying leaf before the cold, harsh Winter approaches. I sense within his heart his fear, the knowledge that he holds of my return to him. I will let him keep his thoughts to himself, for the time being.

Instead, I shut to my eyes…and hum my haunting call once more. Though Frodo listens in his wandering dreams, it is not for him this time. I sense Sméagol's whereabouts nearing me and I know that he will join me in his company.

"Sméagol, dearest…_Precious_ is calling…" I whisper, motioning with the tone of my own voice for his presence, and on my ears a returning hiss abides. I settle upon the stubborn rock and smile to myself in satisfaction, my hair blowing calmly in the dying winds and breezes.

My loyal companion. He still listens to me after so long a time, though I notice that in time he admits jealousy in his heart…he feels I focus my attention on the poor, defenceless one, Frodo. That I have no need for him – he is wrong. I do need him now, more than ever before.

I close my eyes and hum further, sensing Frodo stir slightly in sleep. After time, I smile coldly as the shadow of my true friend rises above the stone. I turn my gaze to him and beckon him closer. He still hears me, and he still chooses to listen.

_"Preciousss…"_ I hear his voice through the fog.

"Yes, Sméagol…I am here again…" I sigh, summoning him closer with my words, and my heart lightens at his devotion. I watch as he scrambles from the protruding rock on which he squats, and leaps down to land beside me, staring up as if expecting a reward.

I smile at him, kindly. "You have not forgotten me…"

"No, no!" Sméagol insists, his eyes fixated and filled with a desiring hunger, his voice pitiful, but yet it brings a comfort as I see him this way. I have done this…I have broken him down. He is a meek servant in my eyes, for my lust he will do anything.

"Sméagol never forgets," he continues. "He listens."

I offer him a comforting smile. "My dearest friend, you have always been good to me…" I murmur. "You have always been worthy…." With this, I edge closer to him, a distinct aroma giving off…the smell of raw fish. I remember his presence furthermore now. I fix my gaze on him.

"Worthy…" I say again. "Do you know of this word…?"

He nods in delight, so determined for a question to answer. "Yes, yes…Sméagol has heard the word," he exclaims in glee. "He knows it, yes, precious…he does."

"But have you followed it…?" I slip out, my words slick, hearing silence.

His breath tightens as he stares back at me, the eagerness to follow my commands in his expression. He bends to the floor, lost in my shadow. I sneer down at him though he does not see it, and I lift my head to the ash sky above. "Do you feel as if you have always been worthy…?" I ask gently.

At this, a feeble grunt of a moan leaves Sméagol's lips. Stepping behind, he rocks back and forth on his rear, bringing his knees up to hug them. He wails under his breath.

_"Do_ you?" I question again, a little sharper than before.

Sméagol's voice howls in his throat. "No…no, precious, no…" A sob rips through him as he continues to rock back and forth, back and forth another time. He hides his face from me, too ashamed to reveal his guilt. He stifles another cry and buries his head in his arms. "Sméagol has not always been good."

My attention darts as sharp as an arrow at his position, noticing the feeble attempts to hide himself away. "Why is this…?" I wonder, my voice softening as I sense a rise of sorrow forming within his chest. "How do you feel this way, my friend? What is it you have _done…?"_

Sméagol lifts his head an inch from his arms, as if considering this fact. His eyes study the ground, study myself. They seem lost…afraid.

They remind me of Frodo.

A silence follows; all the while I keep my contact on this creature, watching his eyes pinching together in thought, listening to the furious battles of conflict raging inside his head. He is struggling, still. This surprises me, dear Sméagol, I thought you had let it go by now.

"Ach – sss!" he cowers in his own clutches, protecting his face with his palms now, not wanting to show his miserable face to anything connected with the outside world. "No!" he croaks. "Don't ask it of us!"

"I am asking you…" I say, my voice never the softer. "Will you not tell me?"

"No! No! No!" Sméagol sobs, his face masked with his hands. _"No! No!"_

"But I want to know…" I carry on, "I want to know, dearest…"

He weeps again, a fleeting thought I feel in his head as to turn away from me, but he stops as if changing his mind. He still shields his eyes. "No…" he groans, his voice quivering. "Sméagol does not need to tell, precious knows…_knows!"_

"I do…? How so…?"

"Because, precious saw…knows of it, Sméagol will not say it!" He sounds final and resolute on his actions, and the truth knows this. I also hold it in myself of what he has done; he does well not to explain. In the future, this will only bring him to his own torture, not to share it with others.

I suppress a grin. "You remember…" I whisper. "You remember well…"

Now he raises his head to stare back, his eyes clogged and his expression mournful. I have seen this face long enough and too much of time to detail; I see this face as if it were of no importance. "Sméagol never forgets," he says again. "He listens."

"Good…" I purr, stroking the creature's head. "Good Sméagol…"

My touch seems to bring a new life into him, as I fall into contact with his own flesh, he flinches slightly, but soon regains his position and takes it as a reward. He relaxes easily now, and uncovers his face away from his arms completely. He seems to be responding well due to my ignorance lately, but I have not discarded him.

"Good Sméagol…" I say again, of which he repeats, thankful.

I smile down at him again, ready to see the loyalty that lies within. "My friend…" I begin, at which he straightens up in response. "I have a favour to ask of you…an important favour…"

"What favour – _favour!"_ he says in slight joy, hopping about a little, overwhelmed that I have decided to hand this to him, to pay him some heed. "It wants us! What's It wanting us to do?" His face seems to light up at his words.

I study his willing look, his eager glint. I know that he would do anything if I wanted him to, just for the chance that I would look upon him again…the same way I did all those years ago, when it was just the two of us…and no misfortune to stand in our way. I know this will work if I plan it accordingly.

"You see yonder…?" I question, attracting his attention to the two hobbits, lying still and quiet in each other's arms, not far from our spot. They have not moved since last I laid look upon them, but they seem ever so peaceful yet.

Sméagol follows my stare, and I sense his doubt. Numbness grows in his eyes, but yet he nods, not pulling his gaze away from the still, resting figures. He does not find his voice, but I sense his breath take a furious hitch as he watches.

"I am sure that you know them by now…" I continue on, my voice darkening. "What they plan to do…do you not? Do you know…?"

"Yes, precious…Sméagol knows," says he, turning away.

I went on, my sight still absorbed on the hobbit Frodo, his face angelic in sleep. "They plan to deprive us…they are on their way of doing so, you understand? Not far now, they are not…and yet you do nothing! You are letting them go!"

"No!" Sméagol backfires, his face horrified. _"No!"_

"But you are! You could succeed now if you had the chance! But you dare not! You care not! _Look_ at them! They are sleeping, they have no advantage! _Do it!"_

"No!" Sméagol cries again, burying himself in a tight ball and curling into misery once again. "Sméagol is not ready! Not ready, precious!"

A furious rage takes me, and I glare down at him with eyes ablaze and my heart alight. Every curse in the tongue of Black Speech flies into my mind, and right then and there I feel as if I could strike them all, but only one word…that still holds a power into existence.

"Coward!" I screech, watching both Sméagol and Frodo stir violently at the deafening sound, which echoes mightily. Silence follows, disturbed by harsh breathing. A pitiful wail interrupts me.

"It is hurting us! Hurting us with words!" he sobs. Then, as for usual as I see, a strange transformation covers him, taking him into a darker shadow. I have seen this witnessing for many years now, and yet it never surprises me. I smile, for now I am not alone for this arrangement.

"It is hurting you, yes!" Gollum attacks back. "For reason!"

I smile towards him, and watch Sméagol with cold eyes. He whimpers.

"You're betraying us!" Gollum scowls, of which I counter back. This has happened many times before, of that we have always succeeded. Sméagol is outnumbered against the two of us, we can always talk him into doing the right thing.

"No!" The creature pleaded. "He is trying – Sméagol is trying!"

"No, not hard enough!"

"Coward!" I scold, enjoying this inner battle.

Sméagol sobs again, covering his eyes. "Leave us alone!" he cries. "Please!"

"You must do this…" I persist, edging him on with my comforting tone now, all of the anger lost in my words, "You must try harder…it is a simple task for you, and you know this…do you not?"

"Yes…" Sméagol trails, his throat blotchy and his hands shaking. "But – but we promised Master that we wouldn't - "

At this, both Gollum and I let out furious howls. "Forget promises!"

"This is not about _them…"_ I whisper soothingly, my note dropping to a minimum. "Everything evolves around _you _now…Sméagol, everything…I am wanting to help you…I am trying to bring Master around for you…I am trying so hard…while you do nothing…"

"Sméagol is sorry!" the voice interrupts, wailing again. "He is sorry!"

"Then show it, precious - _gollum! gollum!"_ Gollum backfires, sneering in anger but with a sense of triumph lurking within his features. "Show it to us!"

"Will you prove it, Sméagol…?" I say softly, stroking the trembling head another time, hearing his throat rack with despair. "Will you prove this to us…will you make us proud of what you will do…? We will be grateful…we will…"

Gollum's eyes light up, a fierce blaze settled inside. "We will, _yesss…"_

Sméagol looks onwards towards the hobbits, still relaxed and slumbering in sleep. Again, I hold on how beautiful they look. They do not know of this plan, we only need Sméagol's accompany for it to work, for it to shine. The creature's eyes well up at the sight of Frodo, simply lying there. He hangs his head low…turns back to us…

And nods. Gollum snickers.

"Good…" I say again, patting the creature's head. "Good Sméagol…"

**_To be continued_**

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_A/N: So, what do you think? I don't really think I'm that brilliant at writing Sméagol/Gollum, but this was in my head and I had to work out the flaws, so sorry if it's up so late. _


	6. Struggle

_Struggle_

_(A/N: I'm sorry about the delays on this story! I've been so busy lately, what with the management of a New Year and everything. I'm trying to fit everything in, and I hope this chapter makes up for it. I will finish it soon, in all good time. smile Thanks to everyone who reviewed!)_

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Three days and three nights have passed since the encounter I held with Sméagol. As the mist has billowed and the hours have grown overtime I now watch from a safe distance, keeping all of my will evermore tugging at weak Frodo's heart, and as with every step he trundles I whisper longingly into his ear.

_"Where are you going…Frodo-love…? Where are you taking me…?"_

Never he answers, never does he bide to the call. Only in the darkest hours of his slumber does he tend to subside the more, and that is when my power works its greatest. Yet he continues, not a voice to his pain but to provide him with further strength, as I have seen into his heart and found a love that sickens me.

A love for his friend, that impotent 'Sam' that follows him in his shadow. Thrice I have tried since this journey to turn his head to reasons, which would prove more important, but all have failed because of the trust that lingers. How I wish Frodo would listen…listen to me. But as long as Sam is around, it cannot be seen that he ever will.

The darkness has fallen once more this night, and I have seen strange, twisted strain in the depths of the hobbit's eyes. Fear lingers within, and I hold a strange feeling that this night may not prove unworthy to me at all. The cold tense of the presence somewhat enlightens me, and holds me close.

Now I follow behind, every now and again furthering Sméagol onwards with varied pushes and hints of wary, as he leads both little ones into the cruel, harsh land. He still keeps to remember the previous night, and as I see, is far more cautious than usual.

My smile stays, and as in doing so I crouch to speak to my dear friend, noticing how he flinches and backs away at my approach, a soft hissing escaping between his few teeth. "You have understood…" I say softly. "You _do _listen…"

He does not respond but instead hands an obedient nod, though he hides this from the ones behind. He lowers his eyes to the ground and proceeds further, his knuckles grazing against the rocks but receiving no reaction to the pain. Trudging he goes on, every once in a while raising his voice to command his usual beckoning.

"Come, come along, hobbitses! Not far now, the stairses are very near!"

The stairs? Ah, so _that _is where he is leading them. Very crafty and clever indeed, an innocent mind but yet betraying with extreme force. I feel gladdened, for now I certainly know in my soul that Sméagol is set forth to obey me, but has not mentioned it so. You have a tricky mind, my friend.

I cast him a pleasing sneer as I draw backwards to the 'companions' behind. He seems uneasy in my presence now, his eyes darting to all sides and inspecting the closest corners, his breath lost in his throat and his expression narrowed in some form of guilt, though this doesn't last long. He has always been overcome by greed.

I slip nearer to the hobbits, Frodo hunched and his back bent quite low, his loyal Sam supporting the shoulder of his arm as they walk slowly but surely, after Sméagol. Somewhere inside of me an angered flame burns bright, as I hoped by now that Frodo would be ready to cast all of his effort aside, and turn back so as not to bring me to this doom I may encounter.

_"Please…please, sweet Frodo…you would not want to destroy me…"_

I hear his mournful panting in my head now, a rush of fervent breaths as his attempts grow demanding. It appears that he has not rested his weary head in a while, his eyes are constantly sliding down to meet his flushed cheeks. How he struggles, so much for such a small creature.

His Sam is beside him, hushing and whispering endearments in his ear; so quiet that even I cannot strain hard enough to hear them. His face is planted with concern, his eyes slanted and carefully watching out for harm, shooting troubled glances at their guide as he plods along, his hair rustling in the calm breeze.

I move to stand at Frodo's other side, my lips close and lying intact of his ear. With an intake of furious breath I let loose a tiny hum, causing a panic to rise within his chest and for his heart to leap, taking his voice with it as he lets out a startled cry. I smile in content as he clutches tighter onto Sam, no words said but frightened the same.

He whimpers as my hand travels over his dirty but yet ashen cheek, and soothes for his quietness, as he moans in the back of his throat and shuts his eyes to block out the sound, and catches a gasp.

_"Invade the rights…" _I tell him softly. _"Turn back to your home…your life…"_

As I speak, my fingers stroke past under his chin and tickle his neck, coming abound reach of my keep and hold. So I see his hands held together tightly by Samwise, and his resistance down in place, and I know have the advantage of warning that I have been longing for, at least for this break of morning.

Grasping the silver chain that holds my confound about his neck, I softly give on it a sudden tug, not brutal but still rough in force, noticing the swift lines already forming from my action, cutting and burning. "Turn back, I say," I command again, a little louder this time as my voice echoes, as one does in the midst of a hollow cave.

Frodo lets loose a hiss through grit teeth, and pinches his eyes tightly shut as he hopes and wants to block out my call. I hold back a laugh of mightiness, and drag the gold a little further, increasing the weight. Frodo's head rather falls, as if indeed to the mortal eye an invisible load had suddenly been attached.

"Oh!" he cries out, blatantly, his eyes rolling back into his head from exhaustion and his feet struggling to find a hold. Sam, in stunned surprise, lets out an exclamation and feels himself being brought down, Frodo's arm slipping out of his clutches, sending the hobbit to his knees on the rocks, his breath heaving.

I glint at him maliciously, my own smile forming across my face from wickedness, as I lay eyes open the scene that emerged from my cause of action.

"Frodo!" Sam's words leave his mouth in a blind hurry of a breath, as he drops to his knees beside his master and places one of his own arms around his shoulders, holding his head close to his chest as he stares down, fright and concern revealed in his heart. Frodo's breathing deepens as he swallows back with endeavour, and a trickle of perspiration spills down his brow, his eyes always shut.

"Too heavy, Sam…" he breathes. "Must rest…"

"We can't," Sam sighs back. "Not out here, in this place. It's not safe enough."

"Sam…" Frodo almost sounds pleading as he holds on tighter to his friend's shirt, his curls immediately being buried below his servant's chin. He is panting now, and his voice is reaching to that level once more, of desperation or something maybe milder. I uncover another sly scorn as I see how close he is to sleep. Then, and only then, may I come to him and give him my full attention that I desire.

"Please, Sam…" Frodo begs again. "Just for a few minutes." The tone in his voice sounds weary, as if he is in need of dire strength. He closes his sweet, sweet crystal eyes and settles into the comfort of Sam's shoulder, his breath gaining as he struggles to encourage some of his energy.

I see Sam sigh, he appears so defeated as the love and anxiety wells deep in his eyes. He snaps his head rapidly at the sound of a nearby voice, and if I look upon them correctly, draws his master closer to him with an uncanny scowl.

"Master! Hobbitses, keep up! No time to rest, no time!"

"Mr. Frodo's tired, he says!" Sam shouts back indignantly. "All he wants is just a moment's peace, good for all of us, I reckon. Not for long, so don't look so horrified, Gollum, then I think we'll all be on good terms." He motions with his hand to the terrified creature, and signals him to come away from such a large distance.

Sam acts quickly, staring down at his beloved friend and inching away into one mighty crack of a nearby chasm, sheltering them from the harsh wind and cold, and the rain as dirty as poison. Now I see that Gollum is with them, his eyes dangerously alight at the thought of detaining his route.

He sits in beside them, pondering and staring sullenly at Frodo, and it seems as if a strange, far-off glance comes into his face. O, so many mind options could be playing among him now, what that he would succeed in doing, and if his own time would be quickly shattered by all this delay. He backs off away, and settles into his own corner, his sight always on the two, watching.

Sam gazes down at Frodo with a troubled smile, and gently passes his hand over the dark curls, as if some parent to their infant. The action has no effect on his master, he still persists to slumber into deep sleep, but the look upon his face is that of one to smile at, behind the ash and dust and dirt gathered on his skin, there lurks a fair beauty of wonder.

Time passes for a while, I do not know how long. Every so often Gollum would turn and face Sam with a questioning gleam, and every time Sam would glance upon his master and shake his head tiresomely. It was as if they were holding a silent spoken talk of action, as if choosing to move on or rest longer. I note that within Sam's heart, he does not wish to wake Frodo, as for the first time he sees peace in his expression. His thoughts often speak too, clearly but yet saddened by an inner guilt.

_Oh, Frodo, I'm sorry for all this…if I could help you further I would…_

And still, Gollum continues to back into his corner, rocking here and there and making strange sounds in his throat, whistling and hissing through his teeth and groaning impatiently. "Has Master rested yet, precious?" he asks, catching his glance hopefully on Sam and the sleeping Frodo.

Staring down at the angelic face, so soft and undisturbed, so comfortable, Sam cannot do anything but refuse. "No – no," he says quietly, a frown of slight patience playing upon his face. "Not yet. Let him sleep a bit longer."

"No time, no _time!" _Gollum snarls back again, becoming intolerant with the wait. He removes himself from the corner and crawls towards them, his eyes ever watching the skies and the fearful weather that the darkening clouds bring. Out of sheer annoyance, he reaches out for Frodo's knee, ready to shake and rouse him from slumber.

Sam smacks his hand away before he can even come close, and with a furious glare, stares back at him with disgust. "You leave him alone, filth!" he snaps. "He hasn't done resting, you've got no right to wake him! I said it wouldn't be long, and it hasn't, not _really…_so let him alone a while, he'll be ready when he's ready, I says." The look in his eyes was so serious, so sure against his words that it was enough to halt Gollum's actions.

"Unkind hobbit," he spits out. "You are not like Master, no, not at all."

I sit here, and watch them carefully. I detect a strong flow of hatred that burns within both hearts as they frown down at one another, and the sickening way that they speak to one another in their minds, there is clearly a powerful detest lingering somewhere, somewhere deep and dark.

Clicking his tongue and breaking his contact with Gollum, Sam stares down once at Frodo, and again that soft smile returns as he notes upon the heavenly expression. I see his dark eyes widen in horror or fright suddenly, and a small cry emits from his throat. He moves aside his master's collar, and sees brutal markings quite burned into the flesh from the weight of my keep. He holds out a finger as if to touch and soothe them, but stops at the final moment.

The tears threaten almost immediately. "Oh, Mr. Frodo sir!" he sobs out, not quite understanding that he has spoken his words aloud. "Oh, Frodo me dear, what has happened to you? This is something I haven't seen, or even heard word of!" This seems too much for him to bear. Still weeping tragically in his chest, he holds on tighter to Frodo, calming him and hoping to block out the volume in his cries.

"What, what?" Gollum interrupts. "Why does nasty hobbit cry?"

Sam ruefully sat up and rubbed at his eyes, a vicious but sorrowful aspect shadowing his face. For the first time I have seen his true tears when Frodo is not awake, and I feel his heat giving off onto my confound, urgently sending off alarming signals.

"He's hurt!" Sam weeps. "It's all for what that _Ring's _done to him!"

I sense a strange notion of anger filling me, burning me within my own presence. Because of I? I have only done to help my poor Frodo, to bring him to this state of mind and body. To leave a few scratches behind is none the worse, but I have always intended to assist. Samwise is blaming me, when I have only done good! _Good! _

I release a furious bellow almighty, striking Frodo with a cruel, hard burn in his sleep and for him to stir unsettled. How should I be taken with this treachery, when I have only promised to do what I believe is right, when my own life force is being snatched away inch by inch, and I can only stand by to watch…and persuade! Even so, sacrifices are in order, but they are all out of my own advantage and well-being!

Don't you see, foolish Samwise? I am so close now that I was before, though I struggle to stay aloft! I am only days yet until my _death! _And it is all because of you, _you! _That I am tied to my fate! Let me live, Samwise! Let me _belong!_

Gollum frowns long and hard. "Can't blame precious, oh no, you can't!"

I glance to and fro from Gollum, to Sam and then to Frodo. I call out to him, urgent and pleading, commanding and furious. I will not lead these events go so misshapen out of hand, I will win through in this pit of events, and it will happen and come alive this instant! My voice is strong and powerful, and reaches Frodo's ears.

_"Arise Frodo, awaken and hear me…your precious! I am slipping from you, tumbling away into darkness, arise so that you may hold me again, and not lose! Behold! A true treason is happening as you rest, your dear Sam is robbing you of me! Rise Frodo-love, I beseech you take me back! Understand this, and **rescue me!"**_

Frodo bolts again awake, such as before, his light eyes alive and reproachable as he glances about. His lips are dry and sticky as such, and in his veins I sense a strange bubble of motion making cause of his blood. The heat is alive in his expression, and his mind still consumed by my voice, that he appears as if living a dream. He stumbles to rise and stares around, my call echoing on and on again.

_"Yes, Frodo…you know I am here still…"_

"Frodo!" Sam gasps, noticing him up and out of sleep. His face crumbles as he looks upon his master, his eyes spinning once more and a frightening notion to see. He seems ready to collapse, staring upwards and into the sky, his dark hair foreboding the shadow of his forehead.

_"Yes…Frodo…yes…"_

"Listen to It…" he rasps, his voice stiff and solid.

Gollum adds a sudden wicked smile and moves away slowly, his eyes absorbed on Frodo's state and a triumphant glint on Sam's shocked appearance. His cackle is found amidst on the thick air, mingled together as that of my own, as the sound rumbles and rocks into the night and darkens the mountains beyond.

_"Yes…Frodo…listen to me…"_

His hand slowly travels down his chest, his eyes following their path as he lays eyes upon the gold, a strange twitchiness in his aghast face as he sees I am still supporting his neck. I smile from my spot, watching and waiting for one of his beautiful reactions to my power, that sends a wave of heat into his body and mind.

"Still here…" he murmurs.

"Frodo!" Sam says again, surprised and terrified by the look on his face. "Mr. Frodo! What is it? What's _happened _to you?"

At the sound of his name being spoken, Frodo looks up and his eyes burn into his servant's, a sudden confusion and yet, hidden malice as they cloud over and burn brightly into the darkness. There is an action as he backs off, shaking his head slowly from dizziness and unbelievably, his fingers clenched in pain.

_"What I have spoken is true…he was **that **close, Frodo…"_

He glances up, his head straightened, and all the while the constant sound of Gollum laughing to himself inside the cave, and being held about by Samwise's fearful gaze. Frodo's lip curls a little and his actions become swift. "You…"

Sam staggers back. "What?"

"You…came so close," Frodo snarls, straightening up tall and firm, and his eyes dancing about such as lights on the water. Though these words do not come from his own mind, I pour my speech into his head to speak what I wish, to abandon these incessant thoughts that curse his will. "You shall not again, do not come closer...I warn you, stay back." As he spoke I whispered on and on into his ear, commanding him, telling him what to say.

Poor, innocent Frodo. As if he would dare to speak his mind this way. In his heart he remains merely but a struggle, as if he could not even begin to believe the taunts of cruelty and the hands of cold stone. He shall see, by the time this is through, that his hands provide more strength than he believes them to be.

Tears of confusion spring to Sam's eyes as he frowns. "Mr. Frodo…I'm not out to hurt you. Please…please listen, tell me what's wrong!"

"Nothing…is _wrong!" _Frodo says, repeating earlier events of the previous nights. In his mind I am demanding him to say these things, but of course Samwise does not understand this. The advantage has returned to me in these final hours, as I had a suspicion that it would in time.

I gather up the quivering hobbit in my arms, squeezing the delicate chest and whispering sweet things into his ear. He lets out a strained grunt, finding no power to force me away, as I am offering his words and creating this force. He shall see that only I accept my own fates, and it does not fall into the hands of others.

"Frodo," Sam sobs, his tears blinding him. "What are you _saying?"_

_"Oh, with his questions! Push him, drive him away! **Fight!"** _

It happens in a sudden burst of energy and anger. I scream at his insubordinate behaviour and his pleading words, and those ugly mud pools that are constantly staring back and forth at unwary foes, that Frodo hears it, and screams himself from the sound. He pinches his eyes closed again, and reaches out blindly for means of escape. He stumbles, catching his shaking foot on a lone rock and falls unsteadily forwards, letting out a moan of under balance, and crashing into Sam. There is a sickening _crack, _and a sharp cry of utter pain.

Gollum's eyes suddenly come alive with a new face. "Master!" Sméagol wails.

I stare towards the ground, where Frodo lies, breathing found difficult. His curls, now suddenly damp with sweat, lift up the weary head and cast his starlit eyes into the blackness of the happening. Sméagol makes a move for him, but stops at my warning glare, and shrinks back into the shadows like a disobedient animal.

Frodo places one hand over his eyes, turning away the shakiness of his lower body. When they are uncovered, they move to a corner of the rock crevice, stare still, and then widen in sheer alarm. _"Sam!"_ he screams sadly, a fright placing his features as he looks beyond and sees a sinister happening, the crystal windows instantly intimidating tears as they freeze in pure trepidation.

All I can do, is smile in my own satisfaction.

Sam lies there, still and unmoving, crumpled into a tense position against the rock, his eyes closed and unwavering. His fist is clenched into a marvel clutch, and his wrists scraped from the surface of the gravel. His head is tilted back, hit hard from the impact of the push, lying there on the surface of a mighty pointed boulder.

And he is bleeding.

**_To be continued_**

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_(A/N: Another cliffhanger to make up for lost time: evil smile : What will happen next, I wonder? I'm sorry to keep this at such a long wait! Oh, now I hate myself for what I'm doing to Sam! I'm relentless! Lol, please R&R!)_


	7. Support

_Support_

_(A/N: It's been a while since I've updated this, so I decided I should...due to the cliff-hanger in the last chapter! Lol. Thanks for the reviews!)_

**_:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:_**

"Oh, Sam!_ NO!" _

Tears, long clenched in Frodo's throat spill from his weakened, strength-divided eyes. A low howl of the harsh wind agrees with him, morning its sadness in a groan but also in a snicker of glee. And I laugh with it, hiding myself from view while I watch the frightened hobbit scramble to his feet, and limping, makes his way to his fallen friend.

The sight of the blood is satisfying. It trickles in a crimson brook past the boulder edge, reminding Frodo of the force he has given from the push. He cannot help a sob as he falls to his knees, softly frantic at the life that is draining away. In his internal agony, I feel his heart slowly rip. He feels responsible for this.

"I am so, _so _sorry, my dear, dear Sam," he moans. "It was an accident." As he speaks, he carefully lifts the curls of gold from the rear of Sam's head. His hair is matted with fresh blood, and dyed in a deep dark. Beneath, and lying upon his bruised skin is a hideous gash, new and flowing. He doesn't move.

I smile at Frodo's concern. I feel a sense of tremor – without Sam, Frodo is weak. He feels this; he knows that he cannot lose him because of it. Power courses through me. Even with Sam hurt, Frodo will find it harder to go on. He will have to search for counsel from another.

Acting quickly, Frodo tears of the sleeve of his spare shirt, and binds the wound with the cloth. "If only you could forgive me," he sighs, his tears threatening again. "I do not know what happened, Sam. It was loud, and dark. I tried to find you." Frodo's knees tremble as he completes the task.

_"You are not all alone..." _I chant, feeling Frodo wash with cold and his blood shiver. His heartbeat paces, and his breaths quicken. I wonder what it would create, what I would enact if I reached out and gently took him in my arms. I would be his friend now, the one to trust. He would be mine.

Though there is a sense of disapproval; Frodo is angry with me. I feel his anger thump against and surround his heart, and not even my most comfort could sustain him for the time being. He has felt the inner calling of the Shadow now, and I know my Master is becoming impatient with me. I am only stalling time for the easiness of my own task, if Sam will die here tonight, there will be no bother.

Frodo, Sméagol and I sit by the injured hobbit for three hours at most, and no change occurs. There is weeping, for Frodo is too frail to lift Sam on his journey, and he cannot bear to leave him behind. I comfort him as best I can, though he blocks me out of his soul with his sharp looks and mute words. It does not abash me, however, I am able to continue with my own dignity. Frodo's is tarnished.

Sméagol offers him considerate looks from time to time, and is suffering my inward punishment for it. One time he reaches out and pats him on the elbow. "Poor Master," he says. "Poor Master." And no more. He should not feel guilty for his decision. We have such a way to go now, and so little time.

Frodo returns a thankful smile. "You are good to me, Sméagol," he breathes. "I am sorry that I am delaying us like this. It is because of - " He turns his attention to Sam, and his voice catches in his throat. "It is because of me," he tells him. "Sam is hurt, and it is all my own fault. I remember nothing of it, now, only dark, deep voices and blindness, Sméagol. I was moving; I was being taken away…somehow. And there was no turning back. I was lost, but found."

There is a pause, as he looks down on the creature, which shivers and groans and grumbles at his words. "You understand me, Sméagol?" he asks, hopefully. It is here that I deliver another cruel blow to his mind, as if arguing his thoughts.

Rocking back and forth, Sméagol's answer is barely heard. "Sméagol has been into the dark, yes," he moans. "Master speaks of it too...he has seen the great things that hide from eyeses and hide from the bright lights. We have felt the cold, precious...so cold it is, and they watch us in the night."

"Who?" Frodo asks, his brow tightening. "Who watches you?"

"The things," Sméagol frowns, and now suddenly, he is not Sméagol anymore. At least, not for these few seconds. A transformation covers his face, and he turns away from Frodo, pawing at the dirt violently. "The things watch us – they are _always _watching us! They tell us nasssty words...they call us nameses. They treat us bad, bad, bad, Master...bad things they call us. Very bad."

Frodo shifts, sitting himself comfortably against the stiff rock. The conversation is interesting him, and he casts another wary look towards Sam. The blood is beginning to show through the cloth, and he tries not to think of it.

"I have heard voices, too," he admits. I feel his body flood with ice as he is reminded of the event before his friend's accident. "I try to ignore them, but they remain with me. What is this, Sméagol? Is it some curse that is laid upon this land? Do ancient spirits wander here, I wonder? I feel them all around me."

"No," Sméagol says, and now he is Sméagol once again. "No spirits."

"Then what do I hear?" the hobbit asks, confusion in his voice. "They haunt me as I sleep, they tell me evil stories and betraying thoughts. They yell when I pay no heed to their calls, and they batter me with their lies. I find no sleep because of it." Frodo whimpers, clutching his head, the weight suddenly holding him down.

Sméagol only frowns. "It was the precious, Master. The precious speaks to us."

Frodo says no more.

**_:--:_**

A dark cloud covers the land shortly after. The scene is now moody and distant, and a fell, gloomy hand is gently stroking the sharpest points into a gentle fog. Frodo's head is bowing into sleep, yet he stays awake for Sam. I smile, easing his comfort by softly humming, hypnotising him into a sweet slumber, his eyelids flickering at my voice.

_"Sleep...Frodo-love, sleep..." _I calm him now, whispering and relaxing him into a peace that he may not waken from for some time. Stubborn as he is against my will, he forces his eyes to open and strays away from the boundaries of his aid. I hear him pleading for his friend's life, for him to be taken and Sam to be spared.

At the sound of my call, Sméagol comes to life, darting his ears away and casting his views aside, springing from his position and clambering his way up the rocky cliffs. He avoids my stare and focuses on his escape, snarling and spitting. He has had enough of the ongoing voices, I see. What a fool he is!

"You coward!" I roar. Frodo hears the tone of my voice, and turns his head. His eyes open in disbelief as they follow the track of his second follower.

"Sméagol?" he questions, pulling himself to his feet. "Sméagol! Where are you going?" his voice is racked with strain and panic, slight sobs clouding his throat. He grabs at his shirt, his fist tightening around my confound and his eyes shrouded with fear.

Almost singing now, Sméagol climbs up to the topmost of the cliff and calls down to Frodo in a cackling voice. "Off, off! Sméagol is off!" he chants in his crooning tone, his eyes suddenly alight and full of eager joy. He dances over the precipice and out of view, laughing as he goes on his way.

"No! Sméagol – _please!" _Frodo cries, beckoning and pleading with the creature. "Please return to Master! Do not go astray! Do not wander! I beg of you, Sméagol, please don't leave me here!" His calls sound as echoes, circling in the sky as of winged birds, hunting for a retreat of single prey, and Sméagol does not appear.

Poor, sweet Frodo. How lonely it feels to be unaccompanied by emptiness. You must learn what it feels to be alone. What it will feel like, for you to accept my hand and be welcomed into my own world.

He twists his body around to Sam, who has been interrupted by his shouts and utters a stiff groan. The sound is heavenly to the hobbit's ears, but instead of rather rejoicing, he sighs inwardly and moves to sit beside his servant, another batch of unfriendly tears gently flowing in the brims of his eyes. He raises a troubled hand and places it over Sam's chapped lips, hushing him quietly.

"I do not wish to hear voices," he growls, a hand slowly soothing Sam's poorly condition. I feel angered by his manner, his rage of comparing me to the sights that he sees in his dreams. Frodo's expression lowers, as he looks upon Sam's calm, undisturbed expression, though there are pinch lines from where his eyes have been squeezed tightly shut, mostly from pain.

An uncontrollable weep racks Frodo's body, and he stifles it, placing one hand over his mouth. "I do not wish to hear voices," he says again, his voice a pitiful whine. "But I long to hear _yours, _Sam. As you lie here, deaf and blind and dumb to the world, my own is crumbling around me."

At his words, and to my annoyance, he gathers Sam's hand in his own and holds it dearly. "It has almost been a day and night," he briefly tells, the tears now slipping down his pale cheeks as if they were ice. "And through this I have realised...I may have been either too stubborn before, or...too tired to say it, but...I need you, Sam. I can't do it without you. _Please..._it was a mistake – an accident. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you.

I cannot bear to think what may become because of this. If it means your death...I dare not to think on it. It wasn't me, Sam. It was this power...it was this Ring – O, yes it was this infernal Thing! I did not know where I was, or what I was doing. You understand that...I cannot take you with me if you should fade. I'm not as strong as you." Here Frodo pauses, trapped with engulfment and grief, and he weeps for a half an hour, openly and without fear of capture.

"I know that there is no water for you, my friend," he gulps. "At least, none for yourself; from your own supply. We cannot go ahead and waste that. But here," And it was at this point that Frodo took up his own water-carrier, half-full, and put it to Sam's lips.

I scowl at him, furious. Do not wear away your own life by accepting his! He is the Light, and you are the Dark! Put him out into the shadows were he belongs! In my rage I glide down to the exhausted Frodo, and gently smooth back his hairline, revealing a line of beautiful scalp, clean and velvet.

_"Let him be, love..." _I drone out, my voice deep and stern. _"Think not of him..."_

"I must," he replied meekly. "This is my fault. Sam and I are in this together."

_"You can do without...can you not? Save that water for yourself...it is such a long way..."_

"Sam needs it," he said, his voice now firm. "I have enough for myself, thank you. Please, leave me now. I would rather not hear your voice; I know the peril that waits." There is something in his words that sounds dangerous, a new threat that calls and chances me to my own power.

Retreating for the night, I leave him disturbed by his only fading confidence. As I sit aside and wait for my faithful Sméagol to appear, I send another message to my Master. He is waiting for me...He wants me to return to him.

To the Shadow Mountain.

I will. I swear that come forth on whatever day; I will find a way to venture to you. If only I could bring myself without assistance. That is the only obstacle.

But Frodo will. If even he ever makes it to that final step, I will bring him down with the largest weapon he himself can muster, and carry with him to the ends. His own heart will betray him before this end is through.

And then my confidence is shattered, and also my patience.

An hour passes, and I hear the hobbit Frodo gasp in delight, and relief. Swinging back in fury, I see that his Sam has revived enough to open his eyes. The colour of them once more banishes me into the depths. How sickening! I focus all of my anger on the wounded one, and flame in rage at why his death did not take him.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo gasps, a loss for words. "My Sam, you rest now."

And Sam does not speak, only offers a smile of gratefulness. Why must their bond choose to remain intact? I do summon that by and by, they will begin to weaken and turn on their own trusts, their own love. It must happen...it _must! _

I remain away from the scene, disgusted at the view. The plan was not going along as quickly as one had hoped for. Things were certainly taking time, and they would continue to do so. Though I have trust that the next step, lies in the hands of my reliable Sméagol.

Then the revenge will come, through an open door and awaiting the taste of death.

A thunderous bellow rumbles through the air. The clouds are growing poison; gathering fumes to choke the lives of those so needy to brave them. I must make certain that Frodo's will and want no longer remains in the hands of that Sam. They do not belong together. Frodo does not belong to Sam.

For Frodo...is _mine. _

**_To be continued_**

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_(A/N: Hope you liked! Feedback most appreciated. Please R&R!)_


	8. Shelob

_Shelob _

_(A/N: I'm so, so sorry about the late chapter! Here be a nice long one for the wait!)_

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The nights are longer now, bringing a darkness greater than that which exists in the day. The air has dropped to a chill, freezing bones and stifling eyes. It is a new morn of a third day since the recovery of Frodo's feeble servant, and now they return on their journey, threatened but not smite.

Frodo at his own pace, Sam close behind.

How it angers me to see them still so set! Sam should have perished from the fall, and all would have been lost. I would reside in the comfort of my Master again, and all of the lands of this earth would be ours, The Black Kingdom, and we will reign all.

_Foolhardy hobbits! The end is so near and so bitter and they choose not to taste it! For all of the power and rage I hold I rely on the counters of my dear, good friend._

Sméagol walks under my frown. I kick him, roughly.

"Do not fail me," I say, scowling. "For your sake."

Sméagol says nothing, but looks towards the ground with a hiss and trembles. He turns his head behind at Frodo, beckoning him onward and quick. "Come Master, come!" he says softly. "We are close now!"

I turn back to Frodo, watching his effort. A frown plays across my face.

"I am fine, Sam," I hear him plead. "You should not strain so much. Rest is...important to you, now. After what I did to you - " He stumbles, caught in Sam's open arms. His knees shake from the weight and he holds onto his friend's shirt. Sam holds him close and with a gentle whisper that does not reach me.

Yes, Frodo. After what _you _did. Just rest that in your weak mind and you will always bear the hardy weight of guilt, as you also carry me.

"How far to go, my friend?" I ask Sméagol, who has his eyes deeply fixed on Frodo. His eyes travel to me, and stop still.

"The stairses, lie here, they do. Around this corner, precious," he says, pointing.

I smile slowly, the edges of my lips curling into a sneer. _"Excellent."_

The stairs will weaken their strengths and hearts. No nimble wit nor quickened pace are match for their steady length. A picture plays in my mind of my Frodo, his hands grasping tight to the stairs as he pulls himself upon them. His eyes droop, his neck stinging from my burns and his wrists chafed and bleeding from the cruel harshness of the stone. His throat dry, his shirt lifting away from his stained skin, his hair blowing.

"Tell our weary travellers to quicken the pace," I tell him. "We do not have much time." A distant wind billows, sending the hair on my head to course behind me. My eyes flash as they rest on Frodo, glowing brightly.

Sméagol does what I say. "Hobbits! Hobbitses!" he cries. "Make haste! We have reached the stairses! Lots of steps, there are!"

Frodo and Sam gradually meet him before the Stairs of Cirith Ungol, desolate and dirty, and stop for breath. I laugh inside at the horror that must run through them at the sight of the tall, uneven steps. The stairs travel onwards for a while, I know this. The demand is mighty for their tiny bodies, and they will struggle and shake upon their grand steadiness.

Sam looks high above, his dark eyes wide. "We climb up there?"

"Yes, yes, up, up!" Sméagol says impatiently. "All the way up! Long way to go!"

The light one still looks doubtful, now that he sees how far it is. There is still a dark brown stain in his hair from his fall, not more than three days after all since it happened. He will still carry on though, denying his pain. I see it through him.

"Well," he says, "it doesn't look so bad, Mr. Frodo. At least there's some good for that wall on either side. That's a comfort." With a wary glance behind him, he takes hold of his master's hand and guides him to the base of the stairs.

Frodo's balance topples at the sight before him. He moans, but holds a brave face.

"We must keep moving," he whispers.

_That, _Frodo...is exactly my plan. You fall deeper into a trap, and my clutches with every step you take. _Not long now._

**_:--:_**

"Gollum!"

The creature darts away, his hand inches from Frodo's knee.

_What is he doing? The sneak! How dare he take advantage like this..._

But before I have a chance to scold him, Sam is awake like a shot and doing the task. That is when I notice Frodo's head in Sam's lap. The darkness must have caused me not to notice before...

I snarl at Gollum, retreating back into the shadows. He thinks he is helping but he is only making it worse. He is bringing them closer together, tightening the bond.

"Sneak..." I hear Sam's words echo through the night, speaking to that miserable, good for nothing beast. I believe it is the first moment that I have ever even thought...especially considered agreeing with him.

**_:--:_**

The strain begins to show in the faces as the stairs grow steep. As narrow as they are crooked, footholds become a problem. Only Sméagol is nimble and swift, scrambling up the side as if it were a level terrain.

Often it appears as though the hobbits will fall, but they hold strong.

I hear Frodo's heartbeat in my head.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Of course he is struggling, with such a weight as I! He is proving to be masterful and strong, despite the effort. I find myself surprised again.

I glide to his fingers, watching them shake and tremble. How feeble, yet how inviting. I wonder...how fast and far would a hobbit fall if he were to let go?

_I wonder..._

I take his forefinger of his right hand deep in my grasp.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

I lift it up carefully, feeling a strange tremor shiver through his body. He grabs on tighter, his feet scraping the rock for a steadier hold. I almost hear him cry out.

A twinkle in the sky. I ignore it, staring upon his fevered brow.

_"And then the little hobbit when a-tumbling down..."_

I sing to him. He hears me.

_Thump-a-thump.__ Thumpitty thump._

He fights my hand away, almost slipping down the side. "No - " he chokes.

Sam looks upward, sweat on his face. "Careful, Mr. Frodo!" he calls out to him. "It'll be all right, we're almost there now, with hope. Hold on..."

"I'm fine," Frodo says, giving me an exhausted, yet poisonous look.

**_:--:_**

When the pinnacle of the stairs comes into view, I smile at the weariness I see before me. The woven lines below their eyes are deep. The lack of rest they have had is bearing them down, and I see that for Frodo, his eyelids command sleep. I imagine the nights – the many nights that lay before us – _oh, Frodo!_

"First stair has passed," Gollum hisses to them. "Next comes the winding stair. Straight stair has passed. Hobbits are doing very well, yes, precious says."

I struggle to keep a straight face. The looks of horror and oppression amuse me. The idea of a second stair..._perhaps longer..._

Frodo topples, sitting down on the floor, panting. _"Oh..."_

"What after that, Gollum?" Sam asks crossly.

"We shall see," Gollum replies, his eyes alight in the dark. "Oh, yes, we shall see."

I give him a sly grin, the boundaries of my gratitude overwhelming even myself. What a loyal servant Gollum is! How different from Sméagol...slow-minded, cowardly, weak – foolish Sméagol. He spills out no hint toward our achievement, yet I see his cunning behind his words.

My eyes dart to Frodo, tending his fingers after the brutal climb. A singular drop of blood spills down past his neck. _The chain is cutting deeper. Deeper into his skin..._

A few strands of dirt lift into the air as my toes barely touch the floor. I fly swiftly but silently behind Frodo, so close I can hear him breathing. I feel him sending me away with his mind, clutching the gold tightly to his chest.

_"Don't touch me, wretched Thing..."_

_"I shall do what I like..." _

And like it, I do.

Slowly the flesh of my fingertips falls to the soft skin upon his neck. I move them in steady, small circles, the base of his curls tickling against my palm. A strand of my own hair is reached by the wind and curls below his throat. His muscles tense under my touch, the smell of ash, dust and poignant leather hanging in my nostrils.

He wafts me away. _"Stop - "_

_Husssh_

My lips are lowered. They trace velvet skin, and then they meet in a tender kiss just below the top of the spine. My senses detect the smell of blood, trickling down his neck. I can see it spill past his collarbone, dark and warm, and as my fingers begin their action again, my bitter tongue laps it up. Frodo shivers.

_"You taste warm," _I tell him, my words dancing off his ear in a whisper.

My hands continue their journey, trailing down his shirt to where it hangs out of his breeches, and my fingernails gently finding, and fondling the hidden flesh. A sigh escapes out of Frodo's chest, a _beseeching _sigh.

_"Supple..." _I murmur, the smoothness of his hide like glass. _"You are well endowed, Frodo-love. As fair as the Ghâsh-hai…" ("Fire-folk...") _Here I pause, my fingers grasping the base of his shirt, travelling to feel his broad hips above his legs, and a softer patch of skin...

_"I wonder if the whole of you is as fair as I deem..."_

"Sam," Frodo interrupts, sitting up tall and letting my hands brush away. "I am rested now. Perhaps we should...make another start."

I sneer at the tremor in his voice. He is already falling.

**_:--:_**

The blackness grows near. Slowly, steadily..._choking..._

An entrance to such a lair holds the filth and stink of approaching death. Festering flesh and tooth hang in the air. The stony feel almost makes me feel comfortable.

"Lead them here," I tell him, entering the cave for myself. I feel bitter and cold in the dampness of the walls, and the stench becomes fouler. I realise that when these moments come it is Sméagol I see great faith in, and wait impatiently for the marvellous moment to arrive...when Samwise is taken deep into death and despair.

_"You will not harm a hair on my Frodo, will you love?" _I remember asking.

"No, no, _Sméagol_ will not."

"Are you sure this is the only way?" I hear Frodo question Gollum from behind.

I do not hear his reply, only the fainted heartbeats of the hobbits as they draw in closer to the darkness. A smile forms across my lips as with every step they take, another breath is taken...another drop of sweat forms. The smell is so intensifying; I feel their poor lungs finding it laborious to breathe.

It is a long way, through the tunnel. Many twists and turns but always in one direction. The sun is banished in this world, and darkness is the ruler. Frodo and Sam hang back, pinching together their noses and clutching tight to the wall, holding back their breath to keep some of the beautiful clean air they have left.

At one bend, Sam topples from the smell, reeling. _He falls! _I cry, grasping for the glory...

"Up! I won't lose you. All the stench and peril comes from here, now for it!"

_Frodo..._

He pulls Sam up, back onto his feet. I would feel greater anger if I had not known that his doom was vastly approaching him. Scowling, I turn my head onto the view, a cause of rage blocking the way.

**_:--:_**

Long moments which seem such as hours pass. The constant steps of the hobbits behind me are a longing pleasure. Soon it will only be _one_ pair of pattering feet.

_Frodo...your sweat is still so sweet on my lips. At last I shall taste you..._

_Wham! _Gollum is off like a shot, colliding into me with little force but still enough for me to suspect. I growl, following after the scurrying creature and attempt to tackle him.

"What is this?" I cry. "Stop you bumbling coward!"

"Sméagol is showing the way to go," he replies.

"They are much distance behind...do you not want them to track you? They will be lost here in these shadows and murk of death! Think of it!"

There is a silence. Only the slow gurgling gasp of Gollum echoes throughout the cave, and the lonely and frightened cry of; _"Sméagol!__ Wait!"_

"You...promised that you would not leave my Frodo to death and darkness," I say, frowning so deep that my eyes are lost. "You said that you would not harm a hair on his head – _why _leave him behind for Samwise's fate! He is dear to me, and precious – yes, I forbid you to abandon him! We had a deal!"

_"Sméagol _said those things," he sneers cruelly. "He did, he did. But Sméagol is no longer here, precious. Sméagol is gone for good. Gone and it is _good!" _He spits on the ground below my feet.

This is an outrage!

_Coward...liar...**betrayer...**_

"GET OUT!" I cry, swinging for a blow at him, but unhappily miss. Gollum scampers over the crevice of the cave and sinks into a hole below the roof, cackling a dry laugh as he leaves. The steady _drip drip _stays with me.

I feel my eyes burning beneath my hair and I want to rip it out. I want to scream...I want to sob; I want to throw a rock at that creature's head. Never have I felt such anger! To leave Frodo to the jaws of that beast, chomping and feasting on his delicate form, draining his life blood from his veins...

No, no, no!

_Frodo...pale and lifeless in a hole, decayed and forgotten..._

No, no, no!

_Never again to whisper those words..._

NO!

_My precious..._

"GOLLUM!" I scream madly, a radiating energy of rage blistering all manners around me, so terrible that it is almost eating away at the rock. _"WE HAD A DEAL!"_

I sigh, a growl coursing along my throat. What will become of Frodo now? Will he turn back? Lost and forgotten, all alone. It may be a chance. Will they take a different route, back to the cities? I cannot let Samwise take Frodo away from me. This is _our _time, _ours! _He should be left for dead!

I retreat back, my feet barely touching the ground as my urgent behaviour somehow lifts me up. I tear through cobwebs too mighty for many to cut, and all of the blackness seems to rip past me as I make my way back to my dear Frodo.

"Frodo...Frodo-love!" I call out, and wait to hear his voice. His breathing is quite strong now, and I know that he is somewhere close. I listen to his heartbeat, and his blood pulses so quickly I feel as if it is excited. But this is fear.

Gollum, the filthy fool! To bring this beautiful hobbit to such fear!

Then I hear his whispers, soft and quiet in another one's ears but louder than an echo in mine. _"The glass...the glass...save me, Lady..."_

I will save you, Frodo – _come to me!_

_"Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!" _comes a cry, which holds me still in my path. The words sting me, cut through my skin with a piercing pain, and catch me still of breath. I hold, squirming in agony at the sound, and turn my eyes to the direction of Frodo's voice.

He speaks poison...what has he done?

I go blind. A light so great and terrible boars through the caverns and hits off all the walls. It hurts so unbearably I find myself falling to the ground, and I land ruggedly on my knees with a palm over my face.

_"NOOOOO!"_

_My eyes! Oh, they hurt me! I am blind!_

The pain hits my head, such a strong power that I tremble, and yet the light continues to linger on. I pick myself up and bolt back on the path that leads towards Gollum, struggling to outrun from the weapon of light.

Frodo commanded it..._my Frodo, _who would never harm his precious!

I bolt away, and I run for anything before me, a dark hole from which to hide away. My eyes still sting and I cover them.

Frodo...Frodo..._how could you do this? _Carry something so evil and speak such things? He is turning away from the darkness, slipping into light! O Master, how would he betray me? Betray us?

Then a hissing comes, a low hiss. I use my hearing to listen as my eyes are still worthless to me.

_Ah, oh behold!_

It is Shelob, a monstrous beast. She has lived here for so long a time yet she is still secret to many. Her illustrious figure appears to me as beauty herself, as in which I am proud. She holds power, but not the ultimate power. But she is natural, and that is what makes her so fearsome.

My eyes widen as she slowly creeps past me, unseen to my sight. How magnificent she is! Awe takes me before I remember Frodo. He is lost and alone back there. Gollum is off wandering, and Sam is fallen behind.

Though it is her duty and under agreement with that wallowing coward to destroy a hobbit, I will not let anyone but Samwise be killed. No matter what has happened, I will offer Frodo a chance to live. He still has to do so much more.

I move in darkness now. The gleam of that light is so terrible my eyes feel as if they are being borne to prone energy and fire, slicing them deep. They remain shut, as I allow only my instincts for the twists and turns of the cave.

I become frantic, hearing screams and shouts and urgent panting in my ears. _If that monster takes hold of Frodo..._

I need him! I need him! My very life, my own existence lies in his hands!

I become lost in the dark, calling and calling, all alone.

"Frodo! Where are you? ANSWER ME!"

_Drip drip drip._

Then I feel it. Like a crushing horde of terrible breath a silence overtakes me, and I know something has happened. Why would he retreat without responding? The last words I heard speak from him were those of elven culture. I knew it...a curse of some sort! A curse to put him to death!

A screeching sound from the right. I follow it, it being the only noise I have picked up for a while. _Oh, you have gone this way?_

I can smell his blood...feel his sweat upon the floor. His path leads me to a tight opening in the cave and I squeeze through. A giant cavern awaits me...laden with the comfort and safety of one in peril. I sense his heartbeat here...quickening, quickening..._stopping..._

All goes silent. His heart! No sound I can hear! What has become of him?

"Frodo!" I command. "Speak!"

It is a faint hope, but I must try...must keep trying..._trying..._

I glide now; the light vanished a while back, placing me in deeper dismay. I drift on, unaware of what I am expecting, anger burning through me for Gollum and Sam.

_Their mistakes may have cost Frodo his life..._

Then I peer through yonder, and notice a still figure, covered from shoulder to foot in thick spinet web – a prey undoubtedly captured by Shelob the Great – and one of her long, clawed legs dragging it aside. Every muscle in me tenses, my breath catching still and my hair billowing sadly around my face.

Frodo..._he is dead._

**_: To be continued :_**

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_(A/N: Ah, I know you hate me for keeping you waiting but reviews are most appreciative: is pelted with rotten vegetables :)_


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